The Prisoner
by Uvatha the Horseman
Summary: Sauron, Ar-Pharazon's prisoner, plays mind games with his guards and is generally being a jerk.


"_Za dashu snaku Zigûr! Durbgu Nazgshu, Durbgu Dashshu!_" [1]

Battle cry of the Armies of Mordor

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Traveling with Ar-Pharazôn's Army**

**SA 3262**

Halwn blew on the dice for luck, then shook them and sent them tumbling across the barrelhead.

"A two and a three. Ossë's stiff cock!" [2]

"Oh, bad luck!" Forsa scooped up Halwn's coins and pocketed them. Halwn felt sick. A soldier's wages weren't much, and he'd already gambled away more than he could afford.

Forsa was already dropping the dice back into the cup. "I'll give you a chance to win back everything you've lost. We'll play again, double or nothing."

Halwn considered the odds. He'd rolled so many low numbers in a row, the next one just about had to be a five or a six. Think how bad he'd feel if he quit the game now and someone else rolled the winning numbers that should have been his.[3]

"Don't do it," Cuinn said from the sidelines.

Cuinn liked to watch the gaming, although he didn't wager himself. He had a new baby at home and was putting aside as much as he could.

Halwn, on the other hand, had already lost all the wages he'd earned on this expedition, and then some. Unfortunately, there wasn't much for a soldier to do but gamble, this far from home.

They'd sailed from Númenor months ago. Since then, they'd landed at the Haven of Umbar and marched across the deserts of the Haradwaith. Halwn was proud to be part of the largest army ever assembled. Their king, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, didn't do anything by halves.

Ar-Pharazôn had come here to avenge an insult. The Lord of Mordor was calling himself Lord of the Earth, a title that should have been Ar-Pharazôn's alone. The king had launched this expedition to put the upstart warlord in his place.

As they approached the mountains encircling Mordor, the soldiers in the armies of Númenor prepared themselves for the hardest fighting of their lives. It was said that the Lord of Mordor was a powerful sorcerer in his own right. He was called Zigûr, or wizard. It was said he could summon storms from a cloudless sky, cause the earth to tremble beneath their feet, or lay a curse on them that could cause a sudden failure of courage.

But there never was a battle. The enemy took one look at the Armies of Ar-Pharazôn, dropped their weapons, and ran.

Halwn snickered. He would have liked to see Zigûr's face when he first realized he was alone. Imagine what it must be like for him, looking over his shoulder and seeing, not rank upon rank of his own heavily armed forces, but an empty field cluttered with the shields and spears dropped by fleeting soldiers.[4]

According to the stories going around camp, the Númenorians surrounded him and made him their prisoner. Zigûr his captors was lucky he wasn't killed on the spot, but Ar-Pharazôn said he had more value as a hostage than a corpse. Whatever magic he had, it wasn't helping him now. Ar-Pharazôn was going to take him back to Númenor in chains.

Halwn snapped to attention when Gavin, the Captain of the Guard, pushed his way through the crush of men around the barrelhead.

"Who wants to earn double their usual pay? It's guard duty, so it's light work. All you have to do is stand in the tent and watch the prisoner."

Halwn frowned. There was already a ring of guards surrounding the prisoner's tent. Why did they need any more?

"If it's just guard duty, why does it pay so well?" asked Cuinn.

"They're having trouble finding anyone who will stay in the tent with the prisoner. There's a rumor going around that he can look into your eyes and steal your soul, or some such nonsense. He makes people uneasy, but there's no actual danger," said Gavin.

Forsa laughed. "You can't scare me. I used to go out with his sister."

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was grey twilight when Halwn and Cuinn reported to the prisoner's tent, which was surrounded by ten or more soldiers in mailcoats and helmets, each one heavily armed.

"Halwn and Cuinn reporting for duty," Halwn said to Gavin, the Guard Captain.

Forsa shoved open the tent flap and came outside, making the sign of the evil eye. "That's it. I don't care what you pay me, I'm not doing another shift." The guard who'd shared the duty with him, a spotty-faced youth, looked just as rattled. Halwn watched them hurry away.

Gavin gave them their orders. "Two guards must watch the prisoner at all times. And don't get too close to him. He's restrained, but even so, keep a distance of at least a fathom[5] if you don't want to get spit on or kicked. All right, then. I'll see you at sunrise."

They followed him into the tent, Halwn first, with Cuinn right behind him.

The prisoner was sitting on the ground with his back against the center pole, with his wrists bound behind it. He was large man, and powerfully built. His chin rested on his chest, his features were hidden beneath the hood of his cloak and the curtain of reddish-brown hair that hung in his face.

One knee was bent, the other leg was stretched out in front of him. He moved, and a clinking came in with you as an and will from the chain connecting the irons around his ankles.

"There he is. 'Hail Zigûr, Lord of the Ring, Lord of the Earth.' Not so proud now, are you?" said Gavin.

The prisoner lifted his head and muttered a curse. The hood fell back, revealing symmetrical features and the coldest eyes Halwn had ever seen. He was clean-shaven, which made him look young, although as a warlord he must've been in at least his late-30s.

Halwn didn't believe all that talk about soul stealing, but to be on the safe side, he kept his eyes away from the prisoner's face.

Halwn and Cuinn took up their positions on either side of the tent flap, and the Captain left them alone with him. Halwn leaned on their spears and settled in for a long night. It was as cold inside the tent as it was outside; he could see his own breath.

After a time, the prisoner lifted his head and tried to catch his eye.

"I'm hungry. Those last two didn't bring me anything to eat." His voice was low and harsh. Halwn didn't answer. A long minute went by. "Some water, then?" Halwn ignored him.

An hour went by. The prisoner moved from time to time, as if trying to get comfortable. He raised one shoulder, then the other. He curled his neck forward, then arched his back. His cloak slipped and fell between his body and the tent pole, and he swore softly.

"Can one of you get that for me?" He sat hunched over, shivering, and his breath came like wisps of smoke. Halwn pretended not to hear.

The night wore on. Cuinn shifted from foot to foot, breathing like someone who was badly frightened.

"I can't shake the feeling that something's happened to the baby and I'll never see him again. That whatever happened was something horrible, like he was crushed under a cart wheel or snatched from his cradle by a wolf. Why would I be worried about something like that, all of a sudden?"

"There aren't a lot of wild animals in Armenelos. I wouldn't worry about it," said Halwn.

Midnight came and went, it was pitch dark outside. The prisoner hadn't moved in some time, even his constant complaining had stopped. He sat with his forehead resting on his knees, his breathing slow and even.

Halwn began to think about running water, fountains in courtyards, the whisper of waves beneath the prow of an oceangoing vessel. Two guards were supposed to watch the prisoner at all times, but surely one of them could step outside for a few minutes. Halwn turned to Cuinn.

"Excuse me, I need to go drown some ants." He lifted the tent flap and went out. One of the perimeter guards took his place inside the tent while he was gone.

When he returned, he wasn't sure what he was looking at, at first. Men were sprawled on the ground, and there was a lot of red. One had his throat had been torn out, another was ripped almost in half, the pink viscera hanging to his knees. The smell inside the tent was indescribable, but it was something like bowel problems combined with the metallic odor of blood.

Cuinn was lying on his back in the middle of the tent, his eyes open but unseeing. His mailshirt had been torn open, exposing the pale skin beneath. The prisoner crouched over Cuinn on hands and knees, his face pressed against Cuinn's upper arm, worrying his head back and forth like a predator with its kill. With each shake, there was a tearing sound.

Halwn gasped, and the creature lifted its head. Its mouth and chin were smeared with gore, and strips of flesh hung from its teeth. A section of Cuinn's upper arm was gone, and a length of bone showed white where the bicep had been.[6] His stomach heaved. Whatever that thing on top of Cuinn was, it wasn't human.

What about the chains that should have held it? Links lay on the ground, broken and twisted. The iron fetters were not so much opened as exploded.

The creature growled, a low vibration deep within its throat. Its eyes locked onto Halwn's, and words in an ancient tongue formed in his head_. You're next._

The spear slipped from his useless fingers and clattered to the ground. He tried to back away, but his feet felt like they belonged to someone else. He screamed. Half a dozen heavily armed men poured into the tent, Gavin, Captain of the Guard, among them. He pushed between his men, crossed to Cuinn in a few long strides, and backhanded the prisoner across the face.

"Stop that!" Gavin's voice could have carried across a field of battle.

The prisoner's head snapped sideways. A red mark appeared on his cheek, the impression from each finger separate and distinct. The prisoner bared his teeth and hissed.

"Easy, easy there." Cuinn's grip on Halwn was so tight that Halwn doubted he could've twisted free it he'd tried.

Halwn blinked. The prisoner sat with his back against the center pole, his wrists bound behind it. A length of chain stretched between the fetters that encircled his ankles. His cloak lay where it had fallen earlier. There was a red handprint on his face.

Gavin was standing over him, fists clenched. "I've had just about enough of your crap."

The prisoner looked up at him, the corner of his mouth twisted in a sneer.

Gavin grabbed him by his tunic and lifted him off the ground, and Halwn heard fabric tearing. He slammed the prisoner against the tent pole and leaned over until their noses almost touched.

"One more stunt like that, and I personally will beat you until you can't stand up. Do you understand?" Spittle flew from his mouth.

Over the Captain's shoulder, the prisoner caught Halwn's eye and smirked.

- end -

Author's Notes - In writing this, I was greatly influenced by the amazing story, "Elegy for Númenor" by elfscribe, who came up with the idea that Sauron could control people by putting images into their minds, as well as the wonderful curse words involving Ossë.

* * *

[1] "Hail Zigûr! Lord of the Ring, Lord of the Earth!"

[2] Ossë is a sea god, and the Númenorians are a seafaring people.

[3] Statisticians say, "Past performance predicts future performance."

[4] A departure from canon. In this battle, Sauron's army dropped their weapons and fled, but Tolkien doesn't say that Sauron was with them.

[5] A fathom is the length of a man's outstretched arms, used to measure the length of rope.

[6] In the Silmarillion, Sauron took the form of a wolf and ate some of the first-born Elves. It has also been suggested that the wolf that ate Beren's men in the dungeons of Tol Sirion was probably Sauron, as well.


End file.
